The Perfect Partner
by EvergreenDreamweaver
Summary: A few weeks into his new job as a detective in Major Crimes, Blair is trying to be 'perfect'.


Disclaimer: I do not own the Sentinel or any of the canon television characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was originally written in 2005, so be aware that technology is not at a 2017 level.

This really ought to be read before _Compromise_ , so if you read that one already, pretend you haven't.

 **The Perfect Partner**

By EvergreenDreamweaver

He waited, patiently. He'd learned to be patient over the years. He'd waited all that time in prison, busted by that hotshot detective out of Major Crimes – Jack Pendergrast. Him and his smartmouthed partner, Ellison. And now that he was finally out, he could still be patient. Word on the inside had it that Pendergrast was dead – may he rot in hell! – but Ellison was still alive and doing business at the same old stand – and apparently had himself a new partner, according to prison gossip. Well, he couldn't do anything about Pendergrast, any more…but Ellison and his new partner would do.

The man settled down in his battered car, and lit a cigarette, never removing his attention from the precinct doors. _Eventually he'll have to show!_

#####

He waited, impatiently, watching the little hourglass symbol hover on the monitor, and silently chanting _'come on, come on, load! Load! I don't have all day!'_ Since becoming a Major Crimes detective full-time, he'd found that 75% of his on-duty time was spent in looking up background checks and other data on the computer, or in old files; in printing out said data, and then in poring over the hard copy, time and again, over and over, until either something was triggered for them, or he gave up in disgusted despair.

Well, he was good at research – he'd been just about the best, after all! If research was what was required to be what he needed to be, now – he'd damned well do research. Maybe then – maybe if he did everything right, did all the research, did all the paperwork, stayed late, concentrated on the job and nothing but the job…maybe then, those voices he heard in the locker room, in the elevator just as he was getting out; in the break room when he hadn't quite stepped in the door….The questioning, curious, dismissive, sometimes-sneering voices – perhaps they would go away.

They weren't always completely negative, of course. His friends in Major Crimes and elsewhere in the precinct always defended him, always stood up for him. But even with them, there was sometimes the slightest hint of…doubt? Hesitation? Wondering if he actually had what it took to be a detective, after all. Wondering if, when push came to shove, he wouldn't crumble, wouldn't regret his decision to leave the ivy-clad halls and the ivory tower….

Well, he wouldn't crumble. He _wouldn't_ fail his partner. He'd do everything right – strive for perfection, that was the key. Maybe then those questioning voices would be silenced.

Sighing wearily, he watched the screen fill, and began to read.

#####

He waited, with surprising patience, for the elevator. Things had been going so smoothly of late, it almost felt surreal. The paperwork got done quickly, information seemed to pour out of the printer and from file folders, thanks to the steady work of his newly official partner; the case load was comparatively light, tempers were calm in the bullpen, his senses hadn't been acting up – due, no doubt, to the fact that his Guide was with him all day, every day now – or at least, was with him a good deal of the time…and was usually easily accessible.

The doors slid apart, and he stepped into the elevator, feeling that things were amazingly right in his world, at long last.

#####

He waited, pacing the width of his office restlessly, not looking forward to what he knew he was going to have to do; the conversation he was going to be forced to initiate. He stopped, and peered surreptitiously through the miniblinds. _Still at it…doesn't he ever stop? And he looks so damned tense, and unhappy. I thought this was what he wanted – he_ _said_ _he wanted it! What's happened to change his mind – and his attitude? HAS he changed his mind? Maybe it's something else…? Everyone else is pleased as punch…solve rate and case closures have never been higher. Can't fault one single, solitary thing about him or the job he's doing. So what's wrong with this picture? What's wrong with him?_

#####

Jim Ellison, Sentinel of the Great City and top detective of Cascade's Major Crimes Division, entered the bullpen with a light step. Court testimony – from a case which had occurred over five years ago, and the perp was up for review, for Pete's sake! – had filled his day, but now he was done. Free and clear. He could pick up his partner, and head home for a well-deserved evening with – hopefully – no dead bodies, hijackings, robberies, terrorist attacks, or whatever – to interrupt it.

"Hey, Chief!"

Blair raised his eyes from the computer monitor, nodded briefly, smiled even more briefly, and returned his attention to the screen. Jim, slightly surprised and a little deflated by the coolness of the greeting, sank into his desk chair and reached for the stack of phone messages, scanning them with more attention than they deserved.

"You about ready to head for home?" he asked at last, placing the message slips back in his Inbox. "Everyone else has called it a day—" He indicated the deserted room with a wave of his hand.

"Um…not really; I have a search running," Sandburg murmured. "Maybe in a bit…."

"I'm ready to go," Jim announced, with slight emphasis on the 'I'm.' "Can't you just let it run and pick up the results in the morning?"

"It would be better if I finish before I leave," Sandburg stated with finality.

"But—"

Jim's protest was cut short, as Simon Banks opened the door to his office. "Ellison – a word with you?"

Jim rose, and tilted his head towards his partner, who seemed absorbed in his work. "Both of us?"

"Just you for the moment," the captain said quietly, and ushered him into his office, closing the door behind him. "Sit down, Jim." He offered coffee, which Ellison declined, then sank into the chair behind the desk with a deep sigh.

"What's wrong, Simon?"

"That's what I was going to ask you."

"Huh?" Jim blinked, confused.

"What's going on with Sandburg?" Banks clarified.

"I don't know – is something going on with Sandburg?" Ellison scowled. "He seemed awfully quiet when I came in – did something happen today, while I was in court?"

"Jim, this isn't something that just occurred today!" Simon snapped in exasperation. "He's not been himself for a couple of weeks now! How is it you haven't noticed? Is it just here? Is he okay at home?"

Ellison thought about that, for the first time actually trying to analyze his partner's unusual demeanor. Simon was right – Blair hadn't been his customary bouncy self. He'd been quiet at the station, burying himself in the paperwork and computer work required for their cases…and when they were out on the street, he'd seemed to be concentrating all his attention on whatever was necessary to get the job done. He was pleasant, he was unfailingly polite, he was efficient….All business; no playing around. Jim had absently noticed it, but dismissed it from his mind, because things were going so very, very smoothly! He might subconsciously miss the constant chatter, but why rock the boat, after all?

 _And at home?_ Jim winced internally. He now realized that his normally effervescent partner had been as subdued as he'd ever seen him. He did his share of cooking, when required; he politely ate the meals Jim prepared, or at least made a pretense of eating them, but there had been very little of the camaraderie they ordinarily shared. No lounging together on the couch and watching sports, or movies – Blair brought case files home from work, and spent each evening going over them meticulously; and when bedtime rolled around, he bid his roommate a quiet 'goodnight, Jim' and slipped away to his bedroom.

 _Have we had any_ _fun_ _lately?_ Jim tried to remember. No camping trips, or fishing excursions; not even any pick-up basketball games on the weather-beaten court at the nearby park. Sandburg wasn't _unfriendly_ , not in the least…no, their relationship was as cordial as ever, but he was reserved, and careful – and seemingly too intent on his work, to relax and just…play.

"No…" Ellison conceded at last. "He's not okay at home, either – but I hadn't thought about it. Because…because everything's been going so well." He flushed _. How could I have been blind to it? How could I_ _not_ _have noticed? What kind of partner – and friend – am I?_ "And he hasn't said anything – I mean, I thought he was okay, just – just concentrating on fitting in as a detective, instead of an observer—"

Banks snorted softly. "Jim…things have been going 'so well,' as you put it, because Sandburg's turned himself into a perfect little robot! He wasn't like this when he first started as a detective, and I don't know what's happened to cause it, but he's withdrawn inside himself – and what's left is an extremely polite, extremely hard-working man, an exemplary employee…and not the Blair Sandburg we all know and…love." Simon murmured this last very low, sounding embarrassed, but he said it, all the same. He cleared his throat and continued. "I've heard things, and I'm sure Blair's heard them, as well—"

"Heard what?" Ellison snapped, his jaw tightening.

"Jim, you knew there would be talk about Sandburg's qualifications for being a detective – especially in Major Crimes! – even after he passed all the Academy courses. Some people just can't seem to believe that he'll actually cut it as a cop. Or they don't think he should have been permitted to become one. And they haven't been exactly quiet about it."

 _I hadn't heard…. How could_ _I_ _not_ _have heard? Was I purposely being obtuse? No, more likely, people are being very careful not to say anything around me…._ Jim made a mental note to start using his Sentinel hearing in a more aggressive manner around the station. If people were bad-mouthing his partner, roommate, best friend and Guide – well, he wanted to know about it and deal with it on the spot!

He got up and crossed over to the window overlooking the bullpen. Tilting one slat minutely, he focused on his partner, zooming in his vision. From this angle, he couldn't see what was on the computer monitor screen, but whatever it was, Blair was concentrating on it fiercely. Occasionally tapping on the keyboard or manipulating the mouse, as he copied information and saved it, and sent it to the printer, the young man was frowning intently, chewing his lower lip as he worked.

Jim looked – really looked, for the first time in days – at his cherished Guide. Curly hair brushed back severely into a tight pony tail; earrings absent, clothing quiet and conservative: no more ripped jeans and flannel. Five o'clock shadow evident, but still, the perfect example of a police detective hard at work, even at the end of a long day.

Unfortunately, he also looked exhausted – and tense. And…frightened? No, not frightened, exactly….Worried? Jim frowned, and narrowed his gaze, focusing in on Blair's pale face, and upped his hearing as well. Heartbeat normal, breathing normal, all the vitals were okay, but….He couldn't pinpoint anything _wrong_ , exactly, but still, the feeling persisted: something wasn't _right_ , either. Had he developed an extra sense that told him when his Guide was unhappy, perhaps? That could be helpful, yes? Blair would be so pleased to discover that…he'd want to run tests….Well, maybe he would. Or not….Did he even _want_ to experiment with the Sentinel-stuff any more?

"I'd better take him home, and have a talk with him," he murmured. He turned back to face Simon's desk, and met his captain's worried gaze. "Simon, you said you'd 'heard things' – Blair is doing okay, jobwise, isn't he? I mean – I'd know, if he wasn't cutting it! And he is; he's been great! And these things you've heard – they aren't…dangerous to him, are they? No one's threatening him, or anything like that?" The worry in Ellison's face hardened into grim resolve. "No one had better be—"

"Jim, Sandburg is doing better than any rookie detective I've ever seen, which is no surprise, knowing him. But I think he's pushing himself to perform at an unbelievably high level, and it's telling on him. As for what I've heard being said…no, no threats, and actually very little antagonism. Just a general sense of…of waiting for the shoe to drop, of waiting until he comes up against something that he can't deal with, and then watching him crash and burn."

"He could deal with anything!" Jim responded hotly. "How many cops have had to face what he has, already, Simon? How many cops have…DIED…and come back to face it again, and again…?"

"Jim, you don't have to convince me! And I've done my best – and so has everyone else associated with Major Crimes – to scotch the comments and questions. If you haven't heard them, I suspect it means people are being extra-careful around you."

"Okay, sir…." The Sentinel squared his shoulders and headed for the office door, knowing that the most difficult part of his day was ahead of him. "I'll try to talk to him."

"Jim…don't just try." Banks' voice and expression were deadly serious.

"Chief, come on; let's go home. The computer will still be here tomorrow." Jim tugged lightly on his partner's shirt collar.

"No, I need to finish this." Blair's voice was polite and pleasant – as it nearly always was, now – but there was no compliance in it. "Why don't you go on home, Jim? There's no reason for you to stick around and watch me download files, after all!"

"And you'll get home just how?" Ellison queried, smiling a little. "I seem to remember we drove to work together this morning."

"I'll grab a cab, or take the bus," Sandburg replied, dismissively.

"Sandburg, there's no need. That search you're running – you can start it again tomorrow, can't you? I'd like to have dinner at a decently early hour tonight; let's go."

"Jim, I said I'll be home later. Just go on without me, okay?" Blair still hadn't even looked up from his computer screen.

The Sentinel scowled and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. An unpleasant notion niggled at his mind. He didn't _think_ it was the reason, but….

"Chief…" he said, very quietly, "Is it something… Have I…done something? Something that's making you not want to go home to the loft with me? If you'd tell me what it is – can I make amends…?"

That got him Blair's undivided attention, and an expression of guilty consternation swept the younger man's face.

"NO! No, no, you haven't done anything – it's not you! I swear!"

"Then what is it?"

"It's nothing, man – really." Blair flushed. "Don't worry about it."

"Why don't you want to go home?" Ellison pressed, gently.

"It's not that I don't want to go home, Jim; it's that I have things I need to do here before I go home!" the Guide tried to explain.

"Things that can't be put off until tomorrow morning?" Jim persisted.

"No…I need to do them now. I have to get this done before I leave." Blair was no longer looking at his partner; he was staring at the computer screen again, and his face had become even paler than it had been before, if that was possible.

Jim decided a little more force was needed. "Chief, come ON! Home – now." He took hold of Blair's arm and tugged, firmly.

"But—"

"If you don't come with me, I'll assume that you're pissed at me for some reason, and trying to avoid me."

Blair looked up, his smile actually reaching his wide blue eyes, for once. "Coercion is not nice, Ellison."

"Neither is avoiding your Sentinel, Chief."

"Okay, okay – but I should really stay." Reluctantly, Blair began preparing to leave, but letting the computer search continue, rather than closing the program down. "If I get in trouble for leaving the computer on, Jim…"

"I'll take the blame," his partner assured him, taking Blair's leather jacket from the coat rack where it hung. "Now, come on!"

#####

It had been a long wait. He _thought_ he'd seen Ellison drive into the underground parking garage, but he hadn't been sure, and the old pickup truck had gone by too rapidly for him to make a positive ID of the driver. So he'd continued his vigil, keeping a watchful eye on the exit from the garage as well as the front doors. He was lucky that they debouched on the same street, so it was easy to watch both exits. _He's got to come out sometime, and I'm going to be ready when he does!_ The fact that he would then be a hunted fugitive again, or in jail again – as a cop-killer, no less – or perhaps killed himself – meant little to the watcher. He didn't care, as long as he took that damned Jim Ellison along with him.

When the blue-and-white truck emerged from the parking garage, he had been ready, but it was nearly dark, and he couldn't get off a clear shot. Snarling under his breath, he set the rifle on the passenger seat, and turned the key in the ignition. The old pickup was readily identifiable, and he had no difficulty following it through traffic.

Eventually, Ellison was going to have to get out of the vehicle…and he was going to be there when he did it – ready to take the first clear shot he was offered.

#####

"Chief – let's swing through a drive-through for dinner, okay? It's getting late, and I'm starved, and I'll bet you are, too."

"Wonderburger?" Blair muttered with distaste.

"Not necessarily Wonderburger," his partner assured him. "We can call ahead to the Golden Palace and order Chinese. They do drive-up now, remember?"

"That sounds good," Blair conceded, nodding. "Okay, that's fine with me. Kung Pao Chicken, please."

Driving with one hand, Jim pulled out his cell phone and – to his Guide's amusement – hit a speed-dial number.

"You've got the Golden Palace on speed-dial?" Sandburg chortled, as Jim placed their order.

The Sentinel ignored him until he'd finished the call. "You have a problem with this, how?" he grinned, then.

"No problem, man – I'm simply overwhelmed by your forethought," Blair answered, with a more genuine grin than Jim had seen on his face in days.

They drove through the streets of Cascade in companionable quiet. Neither of them noticed the battered car which followed.

#####

Dammit, where were these two idiot cops going, anyway? Why didn't they just go home – Ellison would probably drop his passenger somewhere and then drive to his home. And then he'd get out of that rattletrap pickup, and he'd be in clear view, twilight or not….Oh. They were picking up dinner, evidently.

He pulled into a convenient on-street parking space and killed the headlights but not the motor, watching closely as his quarry went through the drive-up lane and was handed a large package through the window. Under the bright lights, he could now see Ellison more clearly. He looked just the same, or nearly so – damn him! The passenger – apparently Ellison's new partner – didn't look in the least like a cop. Maybe it wasn't his partner; maybe it was a cousin, or a nephew, or the kid of a friend….Pretty-boy face, pony-tailed hair. No, that was no cop! Well, he'd wait until this potential witness was gone. Once the detective let him off, things would be all set.

#####

"Sandburg—"

"Hmmm?" Blair lifted his head from where he was rummaging through their package of eat-on-the-run dinner. "What, Jim?"

"I was going to wait, but… We need to talk – now." Jim sounded as if he was being choked – but determined, none the less.

 _Uh-oh – here it comes!_ Blair squeezed his eyes shut. _Couldn't he have let us eat dinner first? Simon's said something to him…he's heard the talk…he's going to tell me that it isn't going to work, being partners with me…I'm a lousy cop... He's going to ask me to leave_. _And where can I go now? What can I do?_ _No job, no place to live…what am I gonna do?_ He felt his breath catch, and his stomach cramp, and he knew that Jim would be able to hear his staccato heartbeat…but there wasn't anything he could do about it.

"Wh-what have I done wrong?" he stammered.

"Wrong?" Jim shot him a quick, confused look, hastily returning his gaze to the street in front of them. "You haven't done anything wrong, Chief! But Simon—"

"Simon? Simon asked you to talk to me? Couldn't he do his own dirty work?" Blair snapped. He felt distinctly nauseous, and for a moment he was afraid that he would have to ask Jim to pull over and let him out. "Now you have to do the firing?" He struggled to control his voice, to subdue the tears he felt rising in his eyes and threatening to overflow.

"FIRING? What firing? Nobody's doing any firing!" Jim echoed, blankly. He took a careful, deep breath. "Chief – Blair, buddy…what are you talking about? Simon's not angry with you! He's worried about you because you seem so uptight…and…unhappy. He thought you would tell me, even if you wouldn't talk to him." The Sentinel's voice dropped to a level so quiet that Blair had to strain to hear him. "I thought you'd talk to me if you were unhappy, too. Why haven't you?"

 _Oh, shit…._ "It's…nothing. I'm fine – I'm…fine."

Ellison sighed heavily and flipped on his turn signal. Before his startled passenger realized what was happening, the pickup truck was pulled out of traffic and parked beneath a large maple tree, which shielded them from the street lights and left them sitting in almost total darkness. Jim knew quite well that sometimes it's much, much easier to speak when the illusion of anonymity exists.

"Blair…you're not fine. And if I hadn't been walking around with the emotional equivalent of white noise generators and a sleep mask on, I'd have noticed it a long time ago." Jim unfastened his seat belt and turned sideways on the seat, facing his partner, then stretched out a hand and rested it on Blair's shoulder. "Please. Tell me what's wrong. Let me help, if I can."

The silence stretched so long that Jim feared Blair wasn't going to answer him – but at long last, the younger man drew an unsteady breath and unlatched his own seat belt. He turned towards Jim, and began hesitantly to speak. At first, his words seemed irrelevant, another Sandburg _non sequitur._

"You know, when I was maybe 12 or 13, I read a book – fantasy sci-fi sort of thing. Full of witches and warlocks and elves and a beautiful queen and knights, plus this advanced-technology guy who arrives in a space ship. There was one part where the head of the Queen's bodyguard is explaining to the hero how there have been attempts on the Queen's life…and that even members of the Queen's Guard can be suspect."

Jim waited, trying not to let his impatience show. At least Blair was talking…the connection had to be there somewhere – didn't it?

"He said – the only people he trusted, were those who had given their lives in the service of the Queen, or to save her. That in the past year, he had come to trust six men…that was all." Sandburg paused, and Jim heard the distinct sound of his painful swallow; and he knew that his friend was coming to the crux of the problem. "That's the position I'm in, Jim….The only way anyone in the Cascade police department is ever going to trust me completely…is if I'm killed in the line of duty."

"Blair – no. That's not true—"

"Oh, but it is," Sandburg cut him off bitterly. "Until then, I'm always going to be – not suspected, not exactly that bad – but…just slightly mistrusted. My dedication always just the slightest bit in question. My honesty just the tiniest bit suspect, because after all, I lied about the dissertation, didn't I?"

He chuckled humorlessly. "I did lie – either way you look at it. So…so I'm really, really trying, Jim – I'm trying very hard, ya know? If I do everything just right – if all the paperwork gets done on time, and I do all the research you need, and I don't take any more time off, and I know all the regs by heart, and I do everything right when we're out on the street.…Maybe then they'll allow me to stay on as your partner, even though I probably don't deserve it. They'll allow me to stay – until I'm killed. Or hurt so badly that I have to stop being a cop. And then…then, I'll be trusted." He dropped his head back against the seat and turned it towards the window. "Then I'll be trusted," he repeated in a raspy whisper.

It took the older detective a few moments to gain control of his emotions and his voice, but he filled the silent time by pulling Blair close to him and holding his partner tightly against his chest. Blair didn't resist; in fact, he seemed to relax fully for the first time, and Jim felt him give a long, shuddering sigh, as if something had been released inside.

"Chief—" Jim stopped, cleared his throat, and tried again. This was no time to fall back on his 'I don't do words' excuse. This time, he had to speak – and get it right the first time! "Blair….Buddy, you are wrong on so many counts, I'm not quite sure where to start refuting them all. Shh, shh, listen to me," as Sandburg started to interrupt. "Listen. You listening?"

Blair hesitated a moment, then nodded against Jim's jacket front. "Yes," he whispered.

"Okay. To start with – although I understand how you feel, my little paranoid partner, and I admit it's probably worse for you; Chief, every rookie is looked on with a little bit of hesitation and suspicion, for awhile. Even you, who've been a cop in everything but badge for over three years already. You aren't the only one. You're just the most…uh…visible one. Yeah, there are people who are going to wonder about your commitment, and expect you to crack – but there are also a lot of people who already know you, and know you won't. And those numbers will grow. Given enough time."

Blair was silent. He seemed to be considering Jim's words carefully. Apparently, he couldn't argue with them, for after a long moment, Jim felt the gentle movement against his chest, as Sandburg nodded again, understanding what the Sentinel was getting at.

"Second, your honesty and integrity aren't in question, despite the diss thing. Your word will be taken at face value, just like the rest of us. You've had interaction with a lot of people in the whole police department, over the past couple of years, and almost without exception, they've been impressed by your abilities and your integrity. That press conference is going to be water under the bridge, sooner than you could imagine. You know – didn't you? – that Simon had a long, in-depth discussion with the DA's office, making sure that when you show up to testify in court that they know what the defendants' attorneys might try to dig up, and that they're ready to handle it."

That one was harder to accept. Blair knew that some members of the CPD considered him just one step above a wanted felon, for his 'fraudulent dissertation' announcement, and they weren't shy about sharing their opinions. He didn't nod in agreement, but he didn't argue either. He'd told Jim he was willing to listen.

When he didn't get the response he'd hoped for, Ellison sighed quietly, and squeezed Blair a little harder. "Third, much as I enjoy having you do all the scut work – and I do know that we've been breezing through cases because you're working your tail off on data retrieval and research and background checks and all that – that's not the reason I want you for my partner. I don't want anyone else. I couldn't work with anyone else the way I do with you, and you know why. And although you could probably work with others, I like to think that you do your best stuff when it's you and me. I want you for my partner because you're who I want for my partner. For a whole lot of reasons, most of which are nobody's business but our own."

He grinned, encouraged, as he heard Blair's muffled chuckle. "Like my circular reasoning, do you? Look, you don't have to earn your way into my good graces – or Simon's good graces – or anyone else's – by groveling, or bootlicking, or doing all the jobs that no one else wants. You earned your place a long time ago, Chief. You're with me – plain and simple. We come as a set: Detectives Ellison and Sandburg – and if someone isn't happy with that, then too damn bad!"

"But—"

Jim shushed him gently. "Let me finish. Fourth, this obsession with perfection. Sandburg, no one's perfect."

"You…come close."

Blair's soft comment brought a derisive snort from his partner. "Not even in my wildest dreams, Sandburg! And nobody expects perfection from you."

"You do…."

"I – what?" Jim groaned softly. "No, no, no, no! I don't! Shit, what have I done to you, that you think that?"

Blair hesitated before answering. "I…you…well, I guess you haven't….Maybe I'm projecting my feelings onto you," he admitted at last. "I feel like I ought to be – so I figured you probably feel that way, too. You deserve better than me, Jim."

"After this, let me decide what I feel for myself, pal, okay?" Jim shook him gently and then squeezed him again. "Now, finally – you listen to this, and you listen good: I don't ever…EVER…want you to say – or feel – that the only way to gain acceptance at the precinct is to sacrifice your life, in the line of duty or not. That sort of attitude is just begging for trouble…and you know it damned well, Sandburg! Not only is it a horrible way of looking at your daily job, it's…" He broke off, gulped, and finished: "Blair, are you trying to kill me, saying things like that? Don't you know what losing you would do to me?"

Blair remained very still. "I'm…not sure," he whispered at last. How Jim managed to hug him even tighter was a mystery he couldn't solve, but one he enjoyed. Breathing was SO overrated, after all!

"I brought you back once," the Sentinel murmured, "and though I'd gladly do it again, Chief, I don't want to have to try. Losing you another time is more than I could face."

"Jeez, Jim…" The muffled voice cracked on what was most definitely a sob, and Ellison settled his Guide a little more comfortably against himself, and rocked him quietly.

"And you…it's what you want, isn't it…? You do want to be my partner, too – right?" Jim queried with slight trepidation, after an extended silence.

The nod against his chest this time was definite and emphatic. "More than anything."

"Then where's the argument?" Jim demanded triumphantly. "I want it – you want it – Simon wants it – and we're not going to let anyone else interfere."

Blair laughed shakily and pushed himself back enough to meet his partner's eyes, although in the darkness he could barely make out Jim's features. "You – make it sound – so simple!"

"It is simple, Sandburg." With a final squeeze, Jim released him, vastly relieved that they were apparently once more on the same page. "Now that we've settled this – why don't we go home before the food gets any colder!"

They settled into their respective places and buckled seat belts. Jim turned the key in the ignition and put the truck in gear. He pulled out, and they headed towards home, both feeling immeasurably lighter of heart.

The battered car moved sedately into the lane behind them.

#####

He watched as the pickup finally pulled into another parking spot, outside an apartment building. Was this where Ellison was dropping off Pretty-Boy? Or were they doing something together, perhaps? Why had they parked under that tree for so long, anyway? They'd picked up dinner; had they been eating it THERE? They couldn't have been on a stake-out, could they? No, they hadn't stayed long enough for that.

Okay, it looked as if he was going to have a problem with the 'no witnesses' part, if Ellison didn't jettison the passenger pretty soon. Well, he'd just have to eliminate BOTH of them, then. In for a penny, in for a pound. He glanced at the rifle propped against the passenger seat. There was plenty of ammo, and firing off two shots wouldn't be _that_ much more noticeable than one. He calmly drove past the parked pickup truck, and moved down the street, sliding into a parking space halfway down the block.

"Can you juggle all that, Chief?" Jim teased, watching as Blair began gathering up the bulging bags of Chinese take-out and his overloaded backpack. He'd insisted that he was going to replace the backpack with an attaché case, to look more 'professional,' but hadn't gotten around to doing it, yet. "Want me to carry some of it?"

"No, I've got it. If I let you carry it, I might not get my dinner back!" Blair accused. "I know you and Kung Pao Chicken!"

Ellison huffed indignantly, and opened his door. "All right, be that way. But if I'd wanted Kung Pao Chicken I'd have ordered it, and not bothered yours. I'd better not see you snitching pieces of my beef-with-broccoli, you food-thief." He slammed the driver's door and made his way behind the pickup, as Sandburg managed to manhandle his burdens into submission and started to get out too.

The sound impinged upon the Sentinel's hearing with no warning. A sound that, once identified, is always recognizable, no matter the situation: the ominous _click-slide_ of a bolt-action rifle being readied.

Army Ranger training took over; as his mind screamed ' _SNIPER_!', Jim Ellison lunged toward his partner, bellowing " DOWN!" at the top of his voice; at the same time reaching for the gun holstered at the small of his back. All his instincts were telling him to get Blair down, get him under cover, keep him safe. _Protect your partner; protect your Guide!_

But Blair, reacting to a Guide's similar instincts with a speed and smoothness he hadn't realized he possessed, was moving too; with his backpack and sacks of their dinner haphazardly flung in different directions, he was diving towards Jim, tackling his Sentinel low and bringing him down on the unforgiving asphalt, trying to shield the other detective with his own body. He was grabbing the service revolver from his shoulder holster, and rolling, just as the _CRACK!_ of rifle fire blasted his eardrums.

Something whined sharply over his head, and he ducked, instinctively trying to become one with the pavement for a second; then he fired off a return shot, aiming high. He didn't really intend on hitting anything just then; he was merely attempting to lay down a little cover fire to keep their unknown assailant contained until he and Jim could get themselves organized.

Beside him, Jim's gun spat fire, but the sound of the shot was drowned out by another rifle blast. This time the bullet didn't whine harmlessly overhead; the sound of shattering glass and the subsequent rain of sharp, twisted metal and glass fragments, told Blair that Jim's truck had been hit, apparently the headlight. He flinched as the shards struck him, almost immediately feeling the warm oozing of blood start trickling from various cuts.

"You okay?" Jim's voice revealed his anxiety, and Blair realized that of course, the Sentinel would know that he was bleeding. "Stay down, scoot under the truck if you can."

"Yeah, I'm good. Just…little dings in my…paint job….You okay, man? What is this? A firefight right in front of our house, for God's sake?"

Ellison chuckled grimly. "Takes 'bringing your work home with you' to a whole new level, doesn't it?" He pulled his cell phone from his jacket pocket and hit a single digit; briefly explained the situation when his call was answered, and put the phone away.

"If this is what bringing work home means, remind me never to do it again! Can you see anything?"

"I'm enhanced, Sandburg, I don't have x-ray vision. I can't see through cars!" Jim sounded distinctly annoyed – but at the situation, not at his partner. "But whoever it is, is behind that old sedan – he's got the back passenger door open, and he's behind it. Damn it all, this is going to mean body work for the truck again!"

Cautiously, Blair raised his head a trifle and gazed down the street, squinting to try and see what Jim saw. Whoever it was attacking them was still mostly hidden behind the car, but…but…. _If I shoot low, I just might hit his feet…._ With that thought in mind, Sandburg brought his gun up once more, and fired, barely above street level.

A scream of pain rewarded him, and for a moment Sandburg glowed with pride, knowing he'd connected with his unseen target. Jim's breathed "Nice shot, Buffalo Bill!" made him even prouder. But before they could follow up the advantage, from out of the darkness there came a flurry of gunshots, and bullets _pinged_ _!_ and _zinged_ _!_ about them, peppering Jim's truck with holes. Metal flew, this time in larger chunks, as well as ricocheting slugs.

"That DOES IT!" Totally exasperated now, the Sentinel scrambled into a crouch, and steadied his gun hand on one knee. He upped his sense of smell, found his quarry, and with the ease of long practice, 'piggybacked' his enhanced sight onto scent. Once more his gun spat flame and lead.

After perhaps 15 seconds of quiet, Jim cautiously extended his hearing, ready to pull it back at the first sound of gunfire, trying to ascertain whether or not their adversary still lived. He found only silence – no breathing, no heartbeat.

"Whew, what in hell was that all about, anyway?" When Blair didn't respond, he glanced down…and froze in horror. "Sandburg!?"

Blair sprawled flat on the pavement, his eyes closed and his face lax in unconsciousness. Blood streamed from a wound on the back of his head, where a metal chunk from the pickup had found its mark.

"Blair!" For an instant that seemed to stretch into eternity, Jim Ellison stared at his best friend, and Blair's words echoed eerily in his mind: _"…The only way anyone in the Cascade police department is ever going to trust me_ _completely_ _…is if I'm killed in the line of duty."_ And accompanying it, overlaying it, another quote that he'd heard too many times at military and police funerals: _"Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends."*_

"BLAIR!" Ignoring everything else around him, including the approaching shriek of sirens, Ellison concentrated on his Guide, gathering the limp form gently into his arms, feeling the rush of grateful relief when he realized that Blair was breathing steadily, and that his heartbeat was present and reassuringly strong. "Oh, Chief…Hang in there, buddy….Hang on. It's gonna be all right….Damn it, don't you dare give up on me now!" He continued to whisper a soft litany mixing heartfelt profanity and fervent prayer in equal parts.

When the first squad car arrived at 852 Prospect, the amazed uniforms found a dead man lying beside a dented, battered sedan, still clutching a rifle in his hands. He had been shot twice – one wound in his left ankle, and the other an incredible hit that went straight through his throat. And they found Detectives Ellison and Sandburg of Major Crimes, huddled beside a bullet-riddled pickup, half a block away. The Great Ellison was loosely cradling his unconscious partner against his shoulder, and crooning reassurances and encouragement, while he held his wadded-up tee shirt against the bleeding wound on the younger man's head.

#####

"Jim!"

Ellison looked up from the half-empty coffee cup he was staring into. Simon Banks had just cleared the entrance doors to the ER waiting room, and was striding towards him, his dark face creased with concern.

"Hey, Cap…"

"I couldn't believe it when I got the call—"

"Yeah, it seems kinda unbelievable to me, too." Jim sighed. "Unfortunately, sir, it's all too real."

"And you had no idea who it was?" Simon Banks eyed his top detective keenly.

"Not a clue. It was dark, and even when I looked at him, after it was all over, it took me awhile to remember him." The younger man tightened his jaw angrily. "And I never even picked up that anyone was tailing us!"

"Ramon Alvarez," Banks mused. "One of yours and Jack's busts. Served his time, was released, and immediately came gunning for you."

"Apparently so," Ellison grunted.

"Never would've thought," Simon muttered. Then: "Have you heard how Sandburg is?"

"No – not yet. He took quite a hit to the back of his head, not to mention all those glass and metal cuts. He was still unconscious when we got here, but all his vitals were strong….Jeez, Simon – as if he didn't have enough on his plate—"

"Did you get a chance to talk to him before all this came down?" Banks queried hopefully. "Did you find out what was wrong?"

Jim sighed. "Oh yes, I found out, all right. He's been trying to be… perfect."

"Perfect?" Simon frowned uncomprehendingly.

"Perfect," Ellison repeated. "He figured that if he didn't make any mistakes and did everything right all the time, and worked his butt off, he'd be allowed – ALLOWED, Simon! – allowed to stay on as my partner. Because, as you said, he'd heard the questions people were asking about his qualifications and whether or not he could cut it as a cop! He actually thought that when I said you'd asked me to talk to him, that I was going to tell him he was fired…." Jim's voice trailed to a stop.

"Damn it, he thought I would fire him?" Banks sputtered. "Where is that boy's mind, anyway? Where'd he pick up such a lunatic notion as that?"

"You said yourself that there were a lot of people asking pretty cruel questions," Jim said dully. "And it gets worse. He thought…maybe still thinks, I don't know…that the only way he could gain the trust of the rest of the PD was if…was if he…died…in the line of duty." He swallowed the lump trying to lodge in his throat.

The captain opened his mouth and then shut it with a snap. He didn't trust himself to say anything at that moment.

Jim fleetingly thought that there might be a few heads rolling at the next senior staff meeting. He returned his gaze to the coffee cup, and stretched his hearing out, seeking to locate Blair, back in the treatment area.

"Detective Ellison?" The speaker was a slender brown-haired woman dressed in green scrubs, a stethoscope peeking from her jacket pocket. She smiled reassuringly at the anxious-eyed man who surged to his feet and crossed the waiting room. "I'm Doctor Belicek; I've been treating your partner, Detective Sandburg."

"How is he?" Jim demanded. "Is he all right?"

"I'm happy to tell you that he's going to be just fine, given a little recovery time," Dr. Belicek smiled. "We stitched up the head wound, and took care of the smaller lacerations caused by flying glass and metal. The only real concern was Mr. Sandburg's slow return to consciousness – but he's awake now, and everything seems to be intact, as far as memory goes. He has a concussion, but it's a fairly minor one."

"Does he need to stay here?" Simon asked. When the doctor looked at him inquiringly, he added, "I'm Captain Banks, Major Crimes. Detective Sandburg is one of my men."

"I'd like to keep him overnight," Belicek told them. "Even though he assured me that he was perfectly able to go home, I'd rather keep him under observation until tomorrow morning – just to be on the safe side."

"He'll hate that," Jim murmured.

The doctor laughed. "He wasn't too happy about it, I admit." The two men joined in her laughter.

"Can I see him? Stay with him?" Ellison asked.

"You certainly may; he's been asking for you," Doctor Belicek said. "I can't give you a room number yet; I'm not sure where he's been settled – but it will be on the third floor, and the nursing station will have the information."

Ellison merely smiled and said a quiet 'thanks, Doc,' but the physician knew heartfelt relief when she saw it, even when an attempt was made to disguise it. She patted his shoulder, and left, pleased that things had turned out well.

"Go ahead, Jim – and tell Sandburg he's off until Monday at the earliest. Both of you are, naturally, since you had to fire your weapons. I'd like to see a report on this sometime tomorrow, but you can do it at home and just drop it off – or e-mail it to Rhonda." He turned to leave, then abruptly swung back. "And Jim? Make sure that things are all okay – with the other thing – before you come back."

"You got it," the Sentinel said tersely, "I just hope the concussion didn't knock all his memory of our conversation out of his head!" As his boss started once more for the elevators, he headed towards the stairs.

#####

"Chief?"

Blair languidly opened his eyes at the softly-spoken summons, and managed a sleepy smile. His lips formed the words "Hey, Jim," but only a Sentinel could have possibly heard them.

Ellison pulled a chair as close to the hospital bed as he could manage, and sank into it. He reached through the bed railing, and covered his partner's hand with his own. "How ya feeling?"

Sandburg attempted to speak, but nothing audible emerged. Jim offered a glass of water; after sipping, Blair tried again. "Tired. Dopey. Head aches like a sonofabitch." Dismay contorted his features. "Jim, they had to cut off a bunch of my hair!"

"It's okay, Chief; it'll grow back, and it's not like you don't have plenty left," Jim teased gently. He scrutinized his partner carefully, seeking his own confirmation of Blair's well-being. A couple of small bandages adorned his right cheek, where glass had scored, and a wide strip of gauze was wrapped about his skull, holding a larger bandage on the back of his head. That was probably where the haircut had occurred. "The doctor said you have to stay overnight, but they probably have pretty nurses."

Blair gingerly let his head roll to the side, looking away. "Not interested in…nurses. Too tired."

"Okay, now I'm worried—"

"Very funny." The Guide slowly turned back, his questioning gaze meeting his partner's. "Who…who was that guy, anyway?"

"Guy named Ramon Alvarez. Someone Jack and I took down," Ellison explained. "He waited all the time he was in prison, just biding his time until he could get out and come back at us, evidently. Well, me. He didn't have anything against you, far as I know."

"Sheesh….isn't there anyone in the Washington penal system who doesn't carry a homicidal grudge against you?" Blair whispered.

"I guess not," Jim admitted, chuckling a little. He tightened his fingers slightly about Sandburg's wrist. "You did good out there, Chief. Damn good. Pretty close to perfect."

A sweet, drowsy smile lit Blair's face. "Really? You're not just saying that because I got hurt and you're trying to make me feel better?"

"Not just saying it, partner. Your bullet hit Alvarez in the ankle, and hampered him, before I finished him off. And if you hadn't tackled me in the first place…well, he probably would have succeeded in finishing me off, first. And then you."

"Probably a lucky shot," his Guide murmured, deprecatingly.

"Maybe, but it was a well-thought-out lucky shot. Give yourself some credit. It worked, that's what matters," Jim assured him. "Simon was here, but he had to leave. He said we're off until Monday. Well, we would be anyway, while the shoot's investigated. He wants a report on this tomorrow, but we can do it at home."

"He's not…he's….Is he mad at me…or anything?"

"Why would he be mad at you? He's very happy that we took out Alvarez, and he's very relieved that neither of us was killed doing it, and he's holding me responsible for your mental well-being," Ellison grinned. "We're under orders to have everything straightened out between us – and you know what I mean – before we return to work. He did say he thinks you're a lunatic, though."

"And I thought he was going to fire me…" Blair marveled sleepily. Jim's last words sank in, and he looked up sharply. "He thinks I'm a lunatic?"

"Chief, when I told him you thought that he was going to fire you, he nearly bit his cigar in half." Jim let go Blair's hand for a moment, to unlatch the bed rail and slide it down. He leaned his elbow on the mattress, and recaptured his Guide's fingers, then used the other hand to gently push back tangled curls. "He doesn't want a perfect little robot of a detective, Blair, he wants you. And me. As a team – warts and all." He smiled, that flashing, brilliant Ellison smile. "Although I suspect he does appreciate having all the paperwork done so quickly. And I think you're a lunatic too, sometimes – but you're MY lunatic, and I'm used to it, so I think I'll keep you."

"Thanks…keep you, too….Tell Simon…I'll…do the paperwork…when I get back…Monday," Sandburg whispered, and let his eyelids droop closed. Apparently the pain medication was kicking in. "Jim? I'm…really tired, man…."

"Go to sleep," Jim urged. "I'm staying right here for a while. If you need anything, just tell me." He watched as Blair drifted into healing sleep, and then closed his own eyes, bowing his head slightly.

 _Thank You for keeping him safe. For giving me this incredible gift….My partner – my Guide – my anchor and lodestone…my best friend in the world. I'll try my hardest to be worthy of him…and take care of him. And by the way…I'd appreciate it if You'd keep on watching out for us….Thanks…._

The End

* The quotation Jim remembered is from John 15:13


End file.
